faith – Page 2 – Steve Jacobsen, Ed.D

Romantic Fiction, Baseball Passions, and Spiritual Masterpieces

A high school friend once told me her mother had gotten a phone call from a neighbor:

“He died!” the neighbor said in tears, “He’s gone! He’s really gone!”

My friend’s mother was shaken. “Who?? Who died?”

In between sobs, the friend named a character from her favorite television soap opera. And continued to cry.

Why do we get invested in imaginary situations?

An anthropology professor I know once invited me to a day-long conference at UCSB focusing on the emerging field of evolutionary psychology. Scholars were exploring how much human behavior could be explained by tracing it back to the adaptive needs of our ancestors. While some of the presentations were over my head, one stuck with me. Many people spend a great deal of time reading “romance novels” and “pulp fiction”. The presenter wondered: why would we be wired to spend our time this way? It seems like such a waste. If life is all about survival, reading about fictional characters in melodramatic stories seems pointless – it doesn’t put any food on the table or make us physically stronger. After exploring several alternatives, he concluded that this activity must be a way for us to exercise our capacity to understand and navigate our social relationships without any actual personal risk or vulnerability. We human beings are social animals who live in groups and tribes: fiction allows us to explore how to do this in a way that doesn’t expose us to any real danger.

Puppies may romp, wrestle and bite each other but never actually hurt one another. Such play is a rehearsal and training for a time when, as adult dogs, they may encounter actual adversaries. They’re safely rehearsing skills they may need in real life.

Which leads to a critical question someone asked me this week: “Why do you get so wrapped up following your baseball team? It’s just a game, but you talk about it like its real life.” I have been pondering this question. Why do I care so much about a made-up game? When the season is over, nothing has changed in my life or the fate of the world. I think being a sports fan is like reading compelling works of fiction: It’s a way to see how human beings behave under pressure over a long period of time. In the process, we become emotionally and mentally invested in the drama and look for lessons to live by. Some examples…If you learn how to function well under high expectations and pressure, you will live a better life. If you let one disappointing experience stay with you, your performance will suffer. If you learn how to be a good teammate, you’ll go farther.

Baseball is like a novel with 162 chapters – plus up to 22 bonus episodes if you make the playoffs. All the while, human drama is unfolding.

When I was a kid, I was short. So was Maury Wills, the Dodger shortstop. He didn’t hit many home runs. But he figured out how to get on first and steal bases. He showed how you could adapt and thrive even if you weren’t the biggest and strongest guy out there.

Or take Sandy Koufax. The greatest pitcher of his time, he declined to pitch the opening game of the 1965 World Series because it fell on Yom Kippur, the sacred Jewish holiday. He showed everyone what personal integrity looks like. (As an example of divine favor, he pitched and won the final game that clinched the Series.)

We human beings are story tellers and game players. From these activities we learn crucial lessons.

Our spiritual traditions are full of invaluable stories.

Buddhism has an abundance of tales, parables, and koans that elegantly convey great insight.

Judaism has a remarkable abundance of brilliant stories, passed down over the centuries to help us reflect on our assumptions and values.

An expert once asked Jesus what he needed to do to inherit eternal life. Jesus affirmed the two most important commandments: love God and love your neighbor. The expert asked him, “Who is my neighbor?” And Jesus told the story of the Good Samaritan.[i]

When he wanted to teach about the loving and merciful nature of God, he didn’t give a lecture on ethics, but said, “A man once had two sons…” and told the story of the Prodigal Son.[ii]

Many of us have heard these two stories countless times. But they never lose their power.

Both stories are total fictions. They never really happened. Jesus made them up. But they tell us profound truths about who we are and who we can be in simple and unforgettable ways.

Years ago I taught a class in religious studies at Heritage College in rural Washington. One of the required books was Black Elk Speaks, an account of teachings attributed to Black Elk, an Oglala Sioux Medicine Man. I always have appreciated this statement attributed to him:

“This they tell, and whether it happened so or not I do not know; but if you think about it, you can see that it is true.”[iii]

[i] Luke 10: 25-37

[ii] Luke 15: 11-32

[iii] “The Offering of the Pipe,” Black Elk Speaks, John G. Niehardt, 1932

Lead Image: Sitting Around The Campfire; ar.inspiredpencil.com

Who Let the Dogs In? The Genius of Rembrandt’s Spiritual Imagination

Over the years, I’ve done a variety of presentations exploring the way Rembrandt portrays Biblical scenes. Time and again, I’ve been fascinated by the surprising ways he imagines and creates visual details. One example is his apparent fondness for dogs.

We can start with “The Hundred Guilder Print.” This work captures in one scene the various encounters Jesus has with a crowd of people as described in Matthew 19. Here’s the print:

If we read the text carefully and study the scene, we see how he includes all the important characters: people who are hoping to be healed, scholars who like to debate fine points of law, mothers bringing children to receive his blessing, etc. Near the bottom left, we find something not mentioned in the text:

When I’ve seen dogs positioned like this, it is usually because they have determined they are near a spot where food scraps are likely to fall. This is certainly not mentioned in the story – it’s something Rembrandt decided to add.

Here is his portrayal of “The Good Samaritan:”

In the story, a Samaritan sees a stranger who has been beaten and robbed, and no one is stopping to help. But the Samaritan binds his wounds, puts him on his horse, takes him to an inn, and arranges for the man’s lodging and care. All that is in the story. But in the lower right corner, we see an unexpected sight:

Suffice it to say, when we see dogs in this posture, we can guess what they are doing. This is not a detail noted in any translations I am familiar with.

He doesn’t limit canines to outdoor scenes. In “The Presentation in the Temple,” Joseph and Mary bring their 8-day old infant to be dedicated. Two elders, Simeon and Anna, express joy upon seeing the child. Divine light streams down from the upper left highlighting the sacred moment:

And there, in the bottom left corner, we see one of our four-legged friends:

This dog is scratching his left ear with his back foot.

I have not found any articles explaining why Rembrandt inserts oridnary dogs into scenes that portray profound spiritual experiences. But my guess is he understood great spiritual moments in life don’t occur in situations where everything is perfectly staged, as if designed by Martha Stewart. They happen in nitty-gritty, down-to-earth settings where ordinary human beings experience something profound. And what is more down-to-earth than the presence of a dog in the midst of a human gathering doing what dogs do?

I have had memorable spiritual experiences in stunning cathedrals and in sanctuaries filled with glorious music. But I have also had them in hospital rooms next to bedpans and beeping monitors, dusty home building sites in the barrios of Tijuana, and while changing irrigation lines in an alfalfa field. And, like many people, I have had experiences with a dog when I feel a deep bond of knowing and caring for each other in a way that’s hard to explain. It’s all part of life, and there’s no limit to the ways and settings in which the Spirit can appear. Rembrandt shows us what that looks like.

Lead Image: “Sleeping Puppy,” Rembrandt, 1640; Victoria and Albert Museum

Learning From Each Other

Last week I shared my reflections after being diagnosed with a bacterial infection in my spine and spending five days in the hospital. I appreciate the many good wishes that came my way and want everyone to know I am doing well.

Knowing many people have similar stories to share – some challenges much more serious than mine – I asked people to share their own insights. Here’s a sample of what I received:

“l have 2 takeaways from 4 days in the hospital last year for Covid/Pneumonia and dealing with subsequent complications for a couple of months after that. I find it’s a lot easier now to be present and stay in the moment and I no longer take anything for granted.”
“Steve so sorry to learn about your ordeal with those invasive organisms. We pray things will continue to go well with treatment. My favorite Psalm is P. 27: The Lord is my light and salvation!”
“Crohn’s disease is a chronic illness, but I resonated with so much of what you shared.”
“Read your account of the nasty encounter with Streptococcus anginosus and so grateful that it’s treatable! I also appreciated ‘What I’ve learned” because it echoes my experiences with my many joint replacements: such gratitude for the level of medical science that lets us walk back home with a good life waiting for us. I’ve been on the other side of the PICC line in the role your good wife has taken on when my sister had a wild ride with an abdominal surgery incision that took a long time to finally close and heal. A unique intimacy evolved in that process that deepened both of us.”

These responses offer some wise guidelines for our day-to-day life.

“Be present in the moment and stay in the moment” — Many years ago, I visited a parishioner who was in the hospital for a heart condition. I asked her how she was doing. She said the pain was getting better and she would be released soon. Then she said, “But there’s been an unexpected blessing about being here. From my bed, I can see the ocean and the harbor.” (Her room was on the 5^th floor of the old hospital.) “The last two mornings I woke up before dawn and watched the sun slowly rise over the ocean. In all my years living in Santa Barbara, I had not done that. All I could do to simply watch it. It was beautiful. I’m going to miss it.” Opportunities for wonder are all around us. We don’t have to wait until we are confined to a hospital bed to discover them.
“No longer take anything for granted.” — We don’t know what the future holds, so it’s important to be aware of the blessings we experience every day. Once a day we can take time to recall and name seven moments or events that occurred in the last 24 hours that we are thankful for. This practice can help us pay attention to such moments as they appear.
Have a Scripture, prayer, spiritual teaching or song you can turn to in times of uncertainty. These can help ground and center us when we find ourselves in unexpected situations. Hymns and spiritual songs harness the power of music to allow us to transcend our limitations.
Find common ground with others who share similar challenges. None of us may fully know what someone else is going through, but sharing our own vulnerabilities and hopes can dissolve the feeling we are completely alone.
Be grateful for medical science. It won’t solve all our problems, cure all our ailments, or allow us to live forever, but it is remarkable how much it can do.
Know that caring for someone or being cared for can lead to a “unique empathy.” “Years ago, anthropologist Margaret Mead was asked by a student what she considered to be the first sign of civilization in a culture. The student expected Mead to talk about fishhooks or clay pots or grinding stones. But no. Mead said that the first sign of civilization in an ancient culture was a femur (thighbone) that had been broken and then healed. Mead explained that in the animal kingdom, if you break your leg, you die. You cannot run from danger, get to the river for a drink or hunt for food. You are meat for prowling beasts. No animal survives a broken leg long enough for the bone to heal. A broken femur that has healed is evidence that someone has taken time to stay with the one who fell, has bound up the wound, has carried the person to safety and has tended the person through recovery. Helping someone else through difficulty is where civilization starts, Mead said. We are at our best when we serve others.” (Ira Byock)

One way to think about life is to see it as a pilgrimage. People on a pilgrimage are making the journey for their own personal reasons. But they travel together. They share stories and memories. They enjoy each other. They care for each other along the way. Getting to the destination is important, but often it’s what they learned on the journey that is most valuable.

I appreciate the responses I received. They remind us that no matter what challenges we may face, we can always look for opportunities to grow in our appreciation for life and each other.

Photo: Pilgrims on the Camino de Santiago, https://www.ncregister.com

Life Among the Organisms

(Dear Reader: the following are my reflections on a recent personal experience. I know many of you have had similar and far more serious challenges in your journey — I would appreciate hearing your thoughts.)

What Happened

On Tuesday, June 19, I woke up with a sore back. The next day I was prescribed muscle relaxants which did not eliminate the problem. Saturday I was running a fever and went to the ER at our nearby hospital. Multiple tests confirmed something was amiss, but they were not sure what. Monday, I went to the downtown hospital for an MRI, which revealed a bacterial infection in the area around my cervical spine; I was admitted to the hospital. In the days that followed, ongoing blood tests and cultures identified the bacteria as Streptococcus anginosus which could be treated with daily injections of the antibiotic ceftriaxone. Friday,I had a PICC line inserted into my right arm and the treatment began. I was released to go home later that afternoon. Saturday a visiting nurse came to administer the medicine and teach my wife how to do it. We expect this to continue for six weeks. My energy is good, and I am not contagious.

What I Learned

I have visited many people in hospitals and homes for more than 40 years. I have seen countless situations more serious than what I experienced. But in sleepless and idle moments, these personal reflections emerged.

Grateful for modern medicine and skilled doctors. I asked what would have happened to me if I had this infection in the not-too distant past or was living in a Third World country. The doctor said the infection would spread to other parts of my body, probably my heart and brain, and eventually take my life. I have a fresh appreciation for the medical training, experience and technology that has been focused on my diagnosis and recovery.
It’s strange to be confined to one room for five days. This was the first time in my adult life I was an inpatient more than one night. At times it’s disorienting to be confined around the clock. But I’m grateful I had a room in the old wing of the hospital that had a view of the mountains. And I am also grateful I carry around with me a well-equipped inner sanctuary, where I go to recite prayers and meditations I have come to cherish over the years. (My favorites are the 23^rd Psalm and the Orthodox “Serene Light” prayer.[i])
Renewed appreciation for everyday comforts at home. My own bed with real sheets and pillows. Our dog napping near me when I am resting. Coffee I can make anytime I want. Privacy. Freedom.
Fresh appreciation for family caregivers. My wife has had to track all that has happened and now is in the role of a nurse giving injections. Caregivers carry a lot on their shoulders and in their mind.
The bacteria and I are both biological organisms pursuing our own aims. After the doctors described the bacteria to me, I tried to fathom the fact that this tiny organism had found a way to get into my blood stream and then decided to colonize the area around my cervical spine. It seemed to me an insidious act – a personal affront! — and I felt anger. But then I thought that this bacteria is just one more organism in the vast realm of living entities doing what they are designed to do: survive as best as best it can. (The words from the Godfather came to mind: “It’s not personal, it’s strictly business.”) But I also thought, “And I am an organism who wants to survive. And I’m going to do all I can to eradicate you from my body. I’ve got lots of resources on my side. We are going to get you. It’s not personal, it’s strictly business.”
Empathy for people whose challenges are far beyond mine. My treatment may last as little as six weeks, and I am otherwise in good health. But I caught at least a glimpse of what something far more serious may be like.
A new opportunity to appreciate the gift of life. I have been around illness and mortality often. I have often contemplated when and how my own life will end. But it’s one thing to think about mortality when we are healthy and another when our basic health is in question. I’m grateful to be alive.

[i] “Turning Towards the Serene Light”, PocketEpiphanies blog post, July 16, 2022

When Opportunity Whispers

Recently I became curious about the word “opportunity.” I wondered where the word came from and if it might have application for spiritual life.

I was surprised to find it originated as a sailing term. The root word in Latin contains the word “port,” meaning a harbor. The word “ob” means “in front of” or “in the direction of.” And the Latin word “veniens’ means “coming toward.” Put that together and you have:

…ob portunm veniens “coming toward a port,” in reference to the wind…

I like that: an opportunity is like sailing at sea and realizing a wind has arisen that can take you to a place you want to be.

The Biblical words for “wind” are evocative. In Hebrew, the word “ruah” can mean wind, breath, or spirit. In Greek, the word “pneuma” also can mean wind, breath, or spirit. Our spiritual ancestors experienced the coming of the divine spirit like the awareness of a fresh breeze. We don’t know where it comes from, but we sense it moving us in a new direction.

Some personal stories come to mind.

When I was in seminary, we were in a couples’ group. The leader asked us to describe how our spiritual journeys began. One woman said her mother had been a heroin addict. She was eight years old and had never been to a church. But one Sunday morning, out of nowhere, she felt a desire to attend a nearby service. She walked down the street by herself. When she arrived, she felt she had come home. She began attending regularly, learning all she could about what faith meant. Over the years, it not only gave her a sense of security and direction but also allowed her to care for her mother more effectively.

I have a friend who is a Catholic priest. He was living in northwest Washington and planned to be in Seattle for the weekend. But he got an inner prompting that he needed to go visit a friend who lived in Yakima. He caught a plane that day. When he landed he called his friend’s house. His friend’s wife answered. She told him she was surprised to hear him, and he could not be showing up at a better time – her husband was dying and would love to see him. My friend went to the house, reunited with his friend, and was at the beside when he died.

More than once, I’ve heard people tell about having been part of a church that focused constantly on how unworthy people are, particularly any that don’t conform to traditional social standards. Over time, they sensed something was not right. They begin to feel a nudging to try someplace new and began exploring options. They cautiously enter some new sanctuary, often sitting in the back row. The primary message they hear is that the purpose of spiritual life is to not focus on outmoded ideas of divine judgement but instead become open to the power of love and grace. Often, the person tells me tears of joy began to flow.

An 8-year-old girl senses a breeze blowing gently towards a small church down the street and sets her sail in that direction. With little to go on but the appearance of a feeling, a man changes his course for the weekend and heads to the home of a dying friend. People who had been told they deserve to live on a stormy sea of doubt and condemnation spy an unfamiliar harbor on the horizon, turn their tiller in that direction, and arrive in a harbor that feels like heaven.

Not every hunch, intuition or idea that appears within us is born of the Spirit. We need to be careful and discerning, remembering that the Spirit will always lead us toward personal responsibility, ethical actions, and service to others. It can feel risky to follow such promptings. But when we do, we can experience blessings we had not imagined.

I am reminded of the words of Tagore: “The winds of grace are always blowing, but it is you that must raise your sails.”

Sometimes in our daily life, opportunity knocks. Sometimes in our spiritual life, opportunity whispers.

Photograph: “Sailing ships entering south harbor in Helsinki, Finland on October 12, 2019, when Traditional Sailing Day is being celebrated in the country.” dreamtime.com

Spiritual Discernment in an Evolving Universe

Life involves plenty of decision-making: some minor and some life-changing. If we are on a spiritual path, important decisions can become part of our journey of discovery and growth. It’s a process known as discernment.

One description of this process is The Way of Discernment: Spiritual Practices for Decision Making by Elizabeth Liebert.

Liebert writes from a strong Biblical foundation and thorough knowledge of contemplative traditions. But she approaches her topic with a contemporary understanding of life and spirituality:

This understanding begins with the universe as a whole: it is open, flexible, and evolving. On our human level, we experience the boundaries that we call the laws of nature. But when we look either more macroscopically or microscopically, we begin to see the universe is dynamic and ever-changing. … we can expect that God, too, is dynamic, ever-changing, continuously creating – not simply repeating what has already been created. …(and) we are able to participate, with God, in the creation of our future.[i]

In the past, some religious practices were dominated by the question, “Am I good enough?” A more interesting quesiton is: “How can I personally access divine guidance in a way that will deepen my relationship with its source, helping me to navigate my own life while benefitting the world around me?”

Awareness Examen: She first encourages us to find a regular time to reflect on where we notice God’s presence in our day. Some people do this by journaling before going to sleep at night, others by taking time early in the morning to review the prior day. Where did you see signs of grace, blessing, and insight? Like bird watchers who become skilled observers over time, we are more likely to recognize such traces if we practice recognizing them.

Use an Important Decision You Are Facing: Are you facing an important decision about your relationships, responsibilities, or life direction? Write down a simple summary of the decision you want help with. Begin to think carefully about it and open yourself to the Spirit’s guidance. Don’t be in a hurry – the process of finding an answer will take time.

She offers seven different ways we can gather clues.

Memory’s Guidance: Think back to a time in your life when you faced a difficult decision and found a satisfying outcome. How did that happen? Where did you find guidance? What role did other people play? What lessons can you draw from such times?

Intuition: Intuitions come in moments when we seem to suddenly know something through a sudden awareness, idea, or sense of direction. It may appear when we are taking a shower, falling asleep, or waking up. It can come when we are on a walk, doing dishes or gardening. Intuitions may not give us the final answer but can offer important hints.

Body Awareness: Our body can give us clues to our deepest awareness. When we think of a possible direction, does our body tense up or relax? What other physical sensations do we discover when we consider alternatives?

Imagination’s Insight: If we are facing two possible directions in our life, we can use imagination to look at each one separately. If I go Way #1, what might happen, immediately and as time goes on? Imagine that option for several days. Then do the same for Way #2. What do we learn from comparing these two directions? We can also be open to dreams, seeing if they offer clues. We can imagine taking our question to a trusted friend (past or present) for advice; who might that be, and what would they say? Or think about being at the end of your life looking back on this moment of decision –what path would you wish you had taken?

Reason: A common way to approach a decision is to logically think through what we might do and what the consequences might be. We can make a list of pros and cons and compare the lists. (But don’t assume if one side has more items, that’s the one we should choose – it could be the shorter list has more significant points.) Is there someone we know who has a lot of common sense that we can talk to?

Feelings: Modern psychology understands emotions are not “just” feelings which count less than logical ideas. Feelings can reveal deep inner truths. When we reflect on different options, what feelings arise? (Write them down). What does such an emotional inventory tell us?

Nature We can go outdoors on a walk or hike and see if some aspect of nature “speaks to us.” One method is to find an appealing spot to sit quietly for a while. Once we’ve settled in, we then pose the question we are facing. We don’t expect anything immediately. But in time, we might see or hear something that seems to offer us insight. A majestic tree might help us believe that we, too, can survive tough times; an emerging sprout might help us recognize something new wants to grow within us.

If we try any or all of these exercises, we may gradually come to a sense of what direction to pursue. She encourages us to then take a few days and live with this possibility. Does it seem right? Will it help us live more authentically grounded in our core spiritual values?

What I have always liked about Liebert’s work is how she encourages us to be open to guidance, insight, and inspiration from many different senses and ways of knowing. Beyond our digital distractions and limited habits of awareness, our bodies, minds, and hearts can open us to the living, creative, divine Spirit within us and around us. It is there to guide us and bless us. It is up to us seek it.

[i] The Way of Discernment: Spiritual Practices for Decision Making by Elizabeth Liebert, pg. 17

Image: “Fields,” Camille Pissaro, 1877

Images of Our Lives: Resumes, Eulogies, Compost

(Dear Reader: I was on the road this week and working on two presentations for this weekend, so I’m reposting this piece from 4 years ago. I picked it because I continue to find these perspectives on our lives (resume/eulogy/compost) to be interesting and helpful. — Steve)

PBS and New York Times commentator David Brooks has experienced a major spiritual transformation in recent years. One of his epiphanies is that many of us live with two sets of virtues in play. As he wrote in a column entitled “The Moral Bucket List”:

It occurred to me that there were two sets of virtues, the résumé virtues and the eulogy virtues. The résumé virtues are the skills you bring to the marketplace. The eulogy virtues are the ones that are talked about at your funeral — whether you were kind, brave, honest or faithful. Were you capable of deep love?

We all know that the eulogy virtues are more important than the résumé ones. But our culture and our educational systems spend more time teaching the skills and strategies you need for career success than the qualities you need to radiate that sort of inner light. Many of us are clearer on how to build an external career than on how to build inner character.[i]

From the first time I read this column, I appreciated this distinction and its implications. In this post, I’m going to comment on my own experience with resumes and eulogies, then add an additional thought.

Resumes: Much of my career was spent building my resume, and it was always interesting to read the resumes of others. Earning degrees, seeking accomplishments that I could quantify, publishing articles and serving on boards were all facts to add to the resume. This is what it takes to create a meaningful work life in a competitive society. It’s part of life in the modern world. But a resume does not a life make.

Eulogies: One of the activities I treasured as a pastor was participating in memorial services. I was always keen to hear what would be said about the person being remembered, and how the stories would cause each of us to pause and reflect on our own lives.

If I was organizing the service, I would work with the family to create a simple outline of the person’s life: where they were born, what they did, and what they accomplished – something like their resume. But that just set the stage for the stories people would share about the person: how they treated other people, and what moments friends and family look back on with appreciation. As David Brooks noted, in eulogies we often hear examples of the virtues of kindness, bravery, honesty or faithfulness – many ways in which people manifest “deep love.”

So far, so good. I like identifying these two important aspects of our lives.

But as I’ve been thinking of this distinction, I kept feeling like there was something missing, and only recently felt like I knew what it is.

Resumes exist in print and are plain for all to see. The “eulogy virtues” may be affirmed as part of a memorial service or obituary. But what if the person lives a very long life, and dies when there is no one left to hear the eulogy?

I think of my own father. He lived to be 91, and almost all of those years were lived in Redlands and San Bernardino. He was active in many civic organizations and a well-known man in his day. In his last few years, my sister and I brought him to a retirement home in Santa Barbara so we could see him more often. When he died, we arranged for a service back in San Bernardino. We published an obituary in his hometown paper and spread the word as well as we could. But on the day of the service, only 3 or 4 people showed up besides family. It was understandable – he had outlived most of the people he knew – but it was also disappointing.

I’ve done services for people who die in relative obscurity. There’s no one there to describe and affirm the virtues and integrity they saw in the person. It doesn’t seem right.

A similar thought arises when I’m with my young grandsons. We share meaningful and fun times. I find myself hoping they’ll remember our time together when they are older. But what if I die before the memories take root? Will the time we share “count?”

It reminds me of the familiar riddle, “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” We could rephrase it: “If someone dies and no one is there to give a eulogy, is the life a waste?”

Ruminating on this question has led me to think of compost.

Compost Many years ago in seminary a preaching and communications professor challenged us to think about how we envision the preaching task.

“You might tend to think of your sermons as roses,” he said. “A masterpiece that you cultivate it until it’s a thing of beauty. Then you carefully cut it, and bring it to display before the congregation on a Sunday morning . As people leave the service, you hope people will tell you what a beautiful rose you created. Well, I invite you to not think of preaching that way. Think of your sermons as compost. Compost you work into the soil of peoples’ lives you are serving. The beauty comes from what flowers in their life.”

The purpose of compost is to disappear into the soil, freely giving itself to produce new life. It doesn’t need to be named to be real and everlasting. So it is with our lives. The good we do for others may not be quantified on a resume or be lauded in a eulogy, but that doesn’t mean it’s of no value. It’s a gift we can give, and then let it go.

[i] https://www.nytimes.com/2015/04/12/opinion/sunday/david-brooks-the-moral-bucket-list.html

A Season of Awe

In recent weeks, I’ve been mulling over Dacher Keltner’s perspective on the different kinds of awe we can experience and how important these experiences are.[i] I’ve also been aware we are in the season of Passover and Easter. For more than 40 years, one of my responsibilities was to find fresh meaning in these stories; it’s a habit I have yet to break. I’ve been wondering: does Keltner’s work offer any insights to the spiritual meaning of the season?

At this point, I’m thinking of five specific points Keltner describes:

Awe-ful experiences. While many experiences of awe are inspiring, we can also feel it when we witness something dark and harrowing, like the events of 9/11, contemplating the holocaust, or personal tragedies.
Awesome experiences: when we experience something beyond our understanding that is mysterious and fills us with wonder.
Moral courage: In Keltner’s research, this is the most frequently reported experience of awe. We feel it when we see someone selflessly take on serious challenges for the good of others: social justice pioneers, foster parents, people navigating serious disabilities and hardships, etc.
Collective effervescence: The powerful feelings we can have when we are part of a group having a shared experience that takes us beyond our ordinary sense of life. This can be at athletic and musical events, moving purposefully in unison, worship services, etc.
Awe-inspired resolve: Witnessing or experiencing awe can give us courage to face difficult situations.

With these in mind, I thought of the Passover and Easter stories in a very basic way. Do these familiar stories contain examples of awe?

Passover

(I am indebted to my Jewish friends and clergy for my understanding of Passover; I hope my comments are valid.)

The Hebrew people are suffering as exploited laborers in Egypt. Moses has a personal divine encounter that directs him to lead them from bondage to freedom. As he confronts Pharoah, seven disasters (“plagues”) fall upon Egypt, each reminders of how vulnerable human life is. When the time is right, the people flee. They come to a body of water but have no way to cross. They look back and see Pharoh’s army coming after them. Death seems certain.

A way through the water appears. The people make their way to the other side, expecting Pharoah’s army to crush them. But the waters return, frustrating Pharoah’s intention. The time of oppression ends and a time of freedom begins. Moses’ sister Miriam leads the people in celebration.

Where are any elements of awe?

The experience of seeing an army approaching determined to destroy you when you are defenseless? Awe-ful.

A mysterious force leads you to a liberated future? Awesome.

Moses’ example, risking his life to lead the struggle? Moral courage.

Joining Miriam in the dance of deliverance? Collective effervescence.

Becoming a source of inspiration? The story has been a constant source of inspiration from the early days of Israel up to the civil rights and liberation movements of our time.

Easter

Yeshua is a peasant who appears in first century Galilee, healing the sick and engaging people of every background. He offers a vision of spiritual life embodied in what he calls “the kingdom of God.” In words and actions, he identifies with the poor and marginalized, assuring them of divine favor. What he says and does threatens the social order. He is arrested, convicted, and sentenced to death. While in custody he is abused. He is paraded through the streets and executed as a public display of the power of the state. The men he chose to follow him flee. As he nears death, he feels even God abandons him.

A few days later, several of his female followers come to his tomb. They begin to have experiences that convince them his personal spirit lives and is present with them. In the days to come, that experience is shared by a growing number of people.

Where are any elements of awe?

Imagining what it would be like to be dying in severe pain, separated from loved ones, and feeling total despair? This is awe-ful.

Becoming convinced he survived the death of his body and is present with his followers — that darkness cannot extinguish divine light, and in the end, love is stronger than death? This is awesome.

Joining the circle of people who experience his risen presence celebrating what this means? Collective effervescence.

Reflecting on his personal journey in those final days and hours, seeing his purpose was to serve and empower others? Moral courage.

Becoming a source of inspiration? The story has inspired countless people, leading them to decide what is worth living for and how to approach death.

I believe both stories contain multiple elements of awe. I have been in gatherings focused on both stories that uplift and inspire me and others. They remind us of what terrifies us. They invite us to see life in a spiritual perspective, encouraging us to know there is light beyond the darkest of circumstances. They teach us that our ancestors have overcome great hardship. They encourage us to share the story, insights, and joy with others through celebration, community, and service. They give us hope and courage.

May we all welcome moments of awe in this season.

Featured image: “Italian Landscape,” Gustav Klimt, 1913

[i] Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life, Dacher Keltner, 2023

[iii] “The Offering of the Pipe,” Black Elk Speaks, John G. Neidhardt, ed., 1932

King Tut and The Early Morning Drop-ins

I am continuing to read and reflect on Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life, by Dacher Keltner. Like many of us, I seek out and welcome experiences of awe wherever I can find them. But I am only now realizing the different ways in which those moments can arise. This week I had two very different experiences that, thanks to Keltner’s work, add to my understanding.

The first was remembering a piece of furniture I saw in 2008 at the “King Tut” traveling exhibit in Los Angeles. I vaguely recall studying Egypt in grammar school; a more vivid association is seeing Steve Martin’s perform “King Tut” (“Born in Arizona, moved to Babylonia… King Tut”). We came into a room which had just one object: in the center, a child’s chair. The description explained that this was the actual chair the 9-year-old Tut sat in when he was first crowned Pharoah. I had to take time to absorb what I was seeing: “This is the exact chair the little guy sat in 1332 BC where he was hailed as a god and Egypt’s ruler? And here I am in Los Angeles in 2008 close enough to touch it?” I tried to fathom how much time had passed between now and then. I tried to imagine what might have been going through the 9-year old’s mind as he sat here for the first time looking at all the people worshipping him. I was in awe.

The next morning, I was sitting in my backyard, waiting for my first cup of coffee to take effect. The sun had just appeared on the horizon and light was coming through our neighbor’s sycamore tree. A few feet away I noticed a single spider web thread waving in the morning air currents; stretching from an oak tree branch to the ground, it must have been 7 feet long. Two feet in front of me was a piece of patio furniture with a vinyl cover. Suddenly a small clump dropped onto it. I wasn’t wearing my glasses — I leaned forward, squinted and wondered “What is that?” A tiny little creature began scurrying away, no bigger than a pencil point. The horizontal rays of the morning sun cast a shadow behind it three times larger than its actual body. Then another little bug emerged from the fallen object and began running in another direction. Then three more. They all took off in opposite directions, hurrying like they were late for work. My best guess was this was a group of just-hatched gnats. I thought about what I was seeing. Until a few moments ago, these little specks of life were all huddled together is a gnat-clump. They all landed like a spaceship on the vinyl cover and now were rushing away from each other to begin their individual lives of adventure. How small their busy brains must be. How fast their mini-hearts must be beating. How strong is their will. I was in awe.

In Keltner’s research, beholding King Tut’s childhood chair in a museum is an example of cultural awe. Being mesmerized by a group of newborn gnats rushing off to start their lives is an example of awe found in nature.

Keltner believes we can find awe in many places. They don’t have to be dramatic events, but can be simple experiences in the midst of our daily life. What such experiences have in common is the emergence of a particular emotion in the face of mysteries we don’t understand. That emotion liberates us from the constant absorption in ourselves and opens us to the fascinating world around us, which becomes a gateway to humility and gratitude. Remembering that decorated little chair and those determined little bugs helped me see my own life in a new perspective. That always feels like a gift.

Lead Image: King Tut’s chair and a solo gnat

This is my third post responding to Keltner’s work. The first was “Rising Above the Phone-Based Culture” (https://drjsb.com/2025/03/01/rising-above-the-phone-based-culture/ and the second was “A Voice in My Mind Said I Feel Awe” (https://drjsb.com/2025/03/29/a-voice-in-my-mind-said-i-feel-awe/

Letting the Sea Speak

What is it about the sea that stirs our imaginations?

What is it about taking a walk on the beach that helps us see life more clearly?

Why is it many of us ask that our ashes be scattered on the ocean?

Many facets of nature can stir our imaginations, offering us metaphors for life and spirituality. Recently I decided to turn my attention to the sea, searching for what it might teach me. Here’s my emerging list…

Like life, the sea is big, mysterious and wonderful. The ocean covers 70% of the earth’s surface and holds 97% of the earth’s water. More than 80% of it has yet to be mapped or seen by humans. Just as a scientific reality, it’s amazing. Isn’t life like that? The millions of years of life evolving into so many forms including us? Looking out on the sea, we are reminded of how small we are and how much we don’t know.

Both the ocean and the divine creating Spirit were here before us and will be here long after we are gone. But here we are in this moment. In the big picture, we may be just “a drop in the ocean.” But here we are. In the time we have we can learn what makes life worthwhile. The Indian mystic Tagore said, “The butterfly counts not months but moments, yet has time enough.”

We walk on the edge. When we take a walk on a beach, we can see what is close to us. But beyond the horizon, the ocean reaches out far beyond our sight. In our own lives, we “walk” through each day based on what is near us, what we can see and understand. But at times we are reminded that so much more of life lies beyond our day-to-day living.

It’s exciting to be on open water. Two years ago, I took a beginning sailing class at the local harbor. I remember the thrill the first time I steered the ship past the breakwater into the open water. It was exhilarating. Sometimes in life, we make a move or start a new chapter, and it feels like that.

In open water we navigate as best we can, but sometimes strong currents come upon us, pulling us in directions we do not want to go. When I was a teenager, our family had a small house in San Clemente where we spent many summers. Every chance I had, I would grab my Duckfeet fins to go bodysurfing. I became confident enough that when distant storms in Mexican waters sent swells up the coast, I could join the veterans who went out to catch the large waves. On one such occasion, I was with a group watching the horizon for the next set. I happened to look back at the shore. The beach looked like it was rapidly moving southward, which seemed strange since I was treading water. Then I the realized the shore was not moving – I was. A strong underwater current had developed and was taking me northward. The next thing I knew a lifeguard came alongside and pulled me up into a boat, ferrying me and others to the pier. I was grateful someone was looking out for us. Unforeseen events in life arise and take us with them; it’s not easy to regain control on our own. It can be frightening. It’s a gift to discover someone sees us and can help.

It’s vital to know how to find a safe harbor when we need it. We can find a safe harbor in life in many ways, including having people we can turn to when we feel “out to sea,” confused or overwhelmed. From a spiritual perspective, it’s a deep blessing to know we have a divine source of courage and wisdom that comes from beyond us. We can access it in prayer, contemplation, Scripture, music, art and community. Countless times I’ve seen a spiritual community reaching out and rescuing someone who’s being overwhelmed by life. It’s a beautiful process to see and reassuring to know.

Every time I ride my bike to the local beach, I feel renewed. Every time we take our grandkids to the beach, they become lost in play. Every time I’ve been part of a committal service which includes casting a loved one’s ashes on the sea, I feel a sense of peace. I’m grateful for all the ways the sea speaks to us.